Sleep Deprivation
by Lady Bordeaux
Summary: "Who needs sleep? Sleep is for squares!" In which James attempts to drag Alice out of bed to accompany him to Hogsmeade, and she blatantly refuses. JamesII/AliceII


**Sleep Deprivation**

* * *

She's woken by loud, rather annoying yells.

"ALICE! GET OUT OF BED!"

She should probably be accustomed to this kind of thing, she thinks, as she flips over on her mattress and buries her face deep into her warm pillow. Breathing in small amounts of air and large amounts of dust, she waits for his next sentence, dreading the impact it will have on her newly awoken ears.

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE!"

Of course she's awake. Who could sleep through the racket he's making? _Well, there are a select few, I suppose, _she muses as she turns her head to get some actual oxygen and notices Clara Wilson out cold, an array of sheets spread wildly over her lanky frame. She's the perfect image of exhaustion, complete with generous amounts of drool and a nasty case of bed hair.

Her other roommates, however, aren't such deep sleepers. As her eyelids gradually fall shut and she curls up into her blankets, Alice hears a plethora of groans coming from various irritated girls. Amid mumbles such as "dear Merlin, _shut up_," and "I'm trying to sleep, here," one voice in particular rises above the others.

"Alice, if you don't haul your arse out of bed in five seconds, I will hex you into oblivion. _You know I will_."

"ALICE!"

Alice doesn't have much of an urge to argue at the moment, but if it earns her a few extra hours of sleep, perhaps it's worth it. "That's interesting, Annie," she retorts, rolling over on her back and pulling her covers back up to her chin, "considering your status as a prefect." _I win_.

Annie doesn't miss a beat. "I doubt I'm the only one ready to take action."

Alice's stomach sinks. She quickly glances around the room before shrinking backwards. Clara has finally awoken. And she looks murderous.

"_Leave. Now."_

"Melodramatic, much?" Alice mumbles, but she stumbles out of bed nonetheless, tired but not quite willing to risk a confrontation with an angry teenage girl who believes firmly in the idea of 'beauty sleep.' After pausing to stretch, she slowly trudges over to her trunk and pulls out random bits of clothing. Once she's dressed, she runs her hair through with a comb and wearily exits the dormitory, each step weighted down with lead.

_I lose._

"Finally! I was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen back asleep."

Alice steals a quick look at him, to see if he's kidding, because _surely _he is. One look at his face, however, reveals that he's actually quite serious. His expression is that of the utmost sincerity, along with a bit of amusement, as he looks her over with that ever-present smirk. "You look quite lovely, by the way."

The blonde knows it would be better to simply ignore him, but how is she supposed to keep her mouth shut to that kind of comment? "Not _nearly _as good as you. Why didn't you tell me you were bringing back the 80's big hair? I could've joined in! Now you just look rather stupid." She gives him a look of mock pity.

It's a pretty pathetic comeback, she'll admit, seeing as his hair actually looks rather tame; not by normal standards of course, but by 'Potter' standards. He seems to be completely aware of this, responding, "Really? I worked fairly hard on it, since we're going to Hogsmeade."

Alice's teasing grin vanishes and she crosses her arms. "Please don't tell me _that's _why you woke me up at" - she glances at the clock - "seven in the morning?" Upon receiving no reply except a mischievous smile, she sighs deeply. "James, we have all day. All weekend! We don't have to go right _now_." She rubs a hand over her face, skin still itching with the sickening feeling of sleep deprivation. "I fell asleep at three o'clock last night-"

"And whose fault in that? I didn't ask you to keep playing Wizard's Chess, but _no_-"

"-and I am going back to bed." A feeling of triumph in her chest, she turns sharply on her heel (a bit _too _sharply, perhaps, as her vision is filled with spots of black) and marches back upstairs. Shaking her head, she throws herself onto her nice, inviting mattress, ready to join her fellow Gryffindors in a peaceful rest.

_I win._

...

"ALICE!"

_Not again_. "James, _please_, I'm tired!"

Her reoccurring argument has no effect. "Who needs sleep?" He replies. "Sleep is for squares!"

"WELL, I GUESS I'M A SQUARE!"

"_Alice..._"

The fifteen year-old snaps her head to the right, ignoring the spontaneous headache it brings her, and glares at the black-haired girl next to her. "Don't push me, Clara!"

"You mean you're not already pushed?"

"Annie, you're not helping. I know. You're a prefect. It's your job." Alice shoots a quick look at the mass of brown locks and scarlet covers across from her. "But please don't."

She hears a small, nearly inaudible sigh escape the Gryffindor's lips and immediately groans, sinking back into bed. That sigh is infamous throughout the whole school; it only means one thing, and one thing only.

"I," Annie states in a voice that is clearly meant to be authoritative, but comes out sounding choked, "Annie Grey, Gryffindor prefect-"

"Annie, don't you dare-"

"-hereby command you to get out of bed and meet James Potter outside the dorm-"

"You can't _do that_!"

"-in order to avoid conflict among present Hogwarts students."

"I hate you."

"Go."

...

"You came back!"

"Reluctantly," Alice responds, nose in the air as she stiffly walks towards the oldest Potter child. She can't believe he's doing this to her; why _now_? Why not later? Did he wake up this morning with some kind of vendetta-

She's ripped from her thoughts when James answers, "Please. You love me." He smirks and crosses his arms, looking, as usual, completely confident in his reply. There's no trace of doubt in his posture, in the way he's staring at her with that infuriating self-righteous grin. He's leaning up against the wall, relaxed, pinning her down with that _look_, as if saying, "Go on. Try and deny it."

_Git_.

Eyes narrowing, Alice clenches her fists tightly and scowls defiantly up at him. "I'm not going," she spits out, a bit harsher than intended. But, as her great-grandmother would say, _whatever works_.

James rolls his eyes. "I was _kidding_, Alice." He lets his arms fall to his sides. "It'll be fun! We haven't gone together in ages. You're always cooped up in here with your books-"

"Studying!"

"-and me and Louis can never convince you to come. Please go?"

Apparently he's out of emotional and or/vocal ammo, because he's resorted to using puppy-dog eyes; probably because it's worked each time before. _Not anymore, _Alice thinks. "Just go with Louis," she snaps. "I'm sure he would be happy to."

She turns away, ready to bound upstairs again, when he says, "But I don't want to go with Louis. I want to go with _you_."

Bullocks.

_Don't turn around, Alice, _she tells herself as she stands, frozen, facing the dormitory entrance. _Don't give in. He's trying to trick you, like always. He just wants an excuse to buy out everything good at Zonko's before anyone else has a chance. Don't do it._

She does, of course, turn back around - gradually. When she is finally face to face with him, she gives herself a mental shake and determinedly looks him in the eye. Her father gave her this tip when he was just a little girl - "Always look your enemy in the eye. It will show them that you're strong and unwilling to go down so easily."

But James is not her enemy. In fact, he's quite the opposite. He's the boy who, at eleven, blatantly told her she was "a bit weird" before sitting down right next to her on the Hogwarts Express with a grin. He's the boy who gave her a high-five when she earned herself a month's worth of detention for socking Jason McClaggan in the jaw. He's the boy who forged a signature when she needed a book out of the Restricted Section.

No, he's not an enemy. He's one of the best damn friends she's ever had.

So when she looks him in the eye, she thinks that she's seeing honesty. And she decides to trust herself; after all, she's known him for seven years, and that's a long time to know somebody without being able to read them.

"I thought it would be nice," he's saying. He scratches the back of his neck and awkwardly casts his eyes towards the ceiling. "It's always been me and Louis, or me and Louis and you. The grounds are always clear in the morning, and we wouldn't have to wait in line for anything." He gives a small cough, and Alice could swear that he's blushing lightly. "We haven't talked in ages, and I figured this would be the perfect day to spend some time with you." _Yes, definitely blushing_, Alice thinks, biting her cheek to hide a smile.

"That was quite impressive," she admits when he lapses into silence after his little monolouge. His gaze leaves the ceiling and rests on her instead.

"Well," he answers gruffly, his blush vanishing, "I do have a way with words. It's a gift." He grins, trying to seem as arrogant as always, but Alice knows better.

He's glad she agreed.

And so is she.

...

Not that either of them will admit it, of course.

* * *

**Well, that turned out different than I expected! For the "170 prompts" challenge. **

**Reviews are ****awesome.**

**:)**


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